Somebody420
After it all ended, there was only one that remained in the ashes. Some called him a warrior, others called him nothing at all. He preferred it that way. If he remained in the shadows, then no one was to get hurt by his wrath, and he wouldn't turn into the monster they feared would awaken. But he was to no longer lurk in the darkness, and the monster within him would soon be unchained. They called him Experiment 76, the unfortunate mutation of a strand of DNA with a paralyzing virus known to the localities simply as "The Plague". This virus struck fear into the hearts of all civilians, and not without good reason, as it was absolutely relentless and struck with a paralytic shock that terminated the nerves oand impaired the speech and cognitive functions of its victims for their lifetimes. Most were rumored not to have survived such a terror and died within 12 hours of hospitalization. Experiment 76 was the only curious exception. The doctors called him a wonder, a curious force of nature. Some feared him, some hated him, some revered him as an abnormality of change, an exception to the rigid rules of society. Horrid scarring tore apart his flesh where the virus latched onto his skin and injected its poison. Then on, he would ever only be seen under the confines of a mask so as to hide the hideous monster he feared he had become. The medical community viewed him as an experiment, and therefore subjected him to days on a cold metal examination table where they picked apart his flaws and criticized the mutation inside him. After approximately 48 hours underneath fluorescent lighting where he was poked and prodded with various metal objects, he was released with a metal cuff unshackled to his left ankle in reassurance that it warded off the viruses and a helmet to be on his person at all times in case of another swarm. Experiment 76 spent a good amount of time recovering and adjusting to civilian life as a paralytic, seemingly meant to observe the humor and freedom of a mobile life from the weight of a cane by his side. The days went by slowly and each minute seemed to drag on longer than the last, as the effects of the virus seemed to take more and more of a toll on his body, dragging him down and becoming more of a burden than a benefit to him overall. At long last, after painful days of taking step after step in a straight line to the kitchen to consume his daily serving of corn flakes and milk, he was contacted by his doctor, who seemed to have developed a cure to his problems. In his following time at the laboratory, Experiment 76 was to test out the latest in technological innovations from Evokex Industries: the mecha-suit. It was the pride and apex of Dr. John Ander's career and he seemed it only right to test such an invention on a subject who needed it the most: a paralytic who was scarred and traumatized by the horrors of recent events - mutated, blackened skin and charred flesh that sent scalding pain up the nerve - memories that Experiment 76 desired to shut away. Anders ordered 76 to try on the suit. Fully hydrothermal, air-conditioned, temperature-regulated, complete with a surround-sound stereo system, a voice activation module and bioptic identification personalized to the user, the suit was truly a scientific masterpiece. Experiment 76 took a deep breath. Once, twice. Three times. And then, with the help and stability of his colleagues for support, he slid into the mecha-suit. The suit had become a high success. The following events rushed together in a blur of black and red and steel parts, with the success of 76's mobilization in the suit and the purchase of a large unit of them all blending together into a lucrative trade. Within a year of becoming acclimated to such technology, Experiment 76 was able to fully function in the suit and began a business producing and selling these units on the market for major profit gain. Such stress of the business world would lead to the staple of 76's persona - the thin paper roll that he balanced between two fingers as he blew out puffs of evaporating courage from between his lips. A call interrupted his bliss. Another order. He was no longer a monster. He was no longer someone to be feared. He no longer resided, hood pulled over his head, in the shadows. He was no longer nobody. He was Somebody420. He was a force to be reckoned with. It was as he reached for the pistol in his back pocket, safety off, ready to bring to force the true meaning of a broken warrior come anew, that he fell forward and the disheveled fragments of rubble broke forward around his framed face. In a flash of a mili-second, as fast as he had collapsed to the uneven pavement, he realized life was more broken than it had once seemed. And then his world turned black. Category:Staff